The Lafayette Campaign: a Tale of Deception and Elections (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 2)

by Updegrove, Andrew

  “Have you followed the polls?”

  “No, not particularly. But what if I had? How could I tell if they’d been altered?”

  “The pattern is too clear. It’s always Wellhead followed by Yazzie. Other candidates rise and fall, but they stay always the same.”

  “Really? Isn’t that what you’d expect? It’s called ‘trending,’ right?”

  “Not in every state! That could not happen. In red states, in blue states – remember how the other candidates bounced up and down. They still do.”

  Frank had in fact been paying more attention to the polls than he was willing to admit, and he had noted with particular surprise how inexorably Henry Yazzie’s popularity continued to grow.

  “Okay, so let’s say for a minute that you’re right. I can just tell someone else instead.”

  “And then what do they do?”

  “Well, like I said, they pull the app.”

  “You do not think the hacker could just do the same thing again, with another app?”

  “Not this late in the election year, no. But why take a chance? They’d wait and pull the app at the last minute.”

  “How would they do that? It is already on so many phones.”

  “Well, they could say that there was a security hazard using it, and people would want to delete it. Or they could have the app vendor push out a patch that removed the malware.”

  “How could you know that whoever you talked to wasn’t part of the same conspiracy?”

  Frank was cynical enough about government for that shot to hit home, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

  “Leave that to me. There’s someone I can contact that I’d trust with my life.”

  “But you must not! He may be trusted, but how do you know you can trust who he thinks he can trust, and so on?”

  Of course he couldn’t. But he’d also had enough of this conversation.

  “Listen. I’ve been out of town for weeks now. My book will be out soon and I’ve got to take care of a few things. Let me think this over and I’ll get back to you.”

  She looked at him uncertainly, and concluded that there was no more to be gained for now. She stood up and handed him her still-full coffee cup. Then she kissed him lightly on both cheeks and let herself out the front door.

  Later that night, he received an email from her. Attached was a spreadsheet with the polling and voting numbers for each of the candidates, together with a statistical analysis of the likelihood of Wellhead’s and Yazzie’s numbers rising in parallel as consistently as they had throughout the primary season relative to the significant swings of the other candidates across red states and blue. The odds were 112,876,521 to one, and the methodology was unimpeachable. Josette was right again.

  * * *

  38

  Just a Friendly Game of Chess

  George Marchand was immersed in conversation with an old friend who by any measure had done well for himself, though his harried face and tired step suggested that his success was bringing little joy at present. To anyone that recognized him as Jim Harwood, the President’s Chief of Staff, the reasons would be clear. With terrorists striking abroad, political enemies setting ambushes at home, and the President’s approval rating in a continuing slump, the administration was more than usually beleaguered. What Marchand had just shared was an unwelcome addition to the burdens he already carried.

  “So you’re telling me that this Adversego guy thinks that not only the polling numbers, but the actual votes are being tampered with?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Yes I do. He’s not only technically very good, but he’s smart and totally honest.”

  Harwood let that go. Everyone in Washington claimed to be honest. Sometimes they even were – when it coincided with their best interests.

  They walked in silence while Harwood took in the implications of what Marchand had just told him. Perhaps a whole season of primaries had been hacked. The polls – unfortunately, only for the Republicans and Yazzie − couldn’t be trusted. Marchand wanted the President to act, but he was already getting hammered unmercifully by the Republicans for taking Executive actions when Congress refused to act.

  “So what specifically are you saying we should do?” Harwood asked.

  “Well, you could make the game company shut down the app so at least the November election will be clean.”

  “What if it leaks out why we’ve done it?”

  “Why would that happen?”

  “Because everything in this town leaks if there’s something in it for somebody.”

  “Well, you’d tell the truth – that the administration didn’t find out about the hack until just then.”

  Harwood snorted. “You mean until the Republicans had nominated a clown that the President should be able to beat?”

  “The Republicans don’t think that.”

  “The smart ones do.”

  “Well, then the primaries can be run all over again!”

  “Really? You think that would be a good idea? Think what the Republicans would say to that! They’d say the whole story had been fabricated to put off the election! They’d say that the President was staging some sort of camouflaged coup to stay in charge until his poll ratings recover. What could he have to lose, the way they are right now?”

  “But you’ve got to do something! You can’t just let an election go forward when you know it’s going to be hacked!”

  At the moment, Harwood was more than half inclined to do just that. If the President was defeated, disclosing that the voting had been hacked would be enough to nullify the election for certain. And eventually the President’s poll numbers had to come back up. Perhaps there was a way to have it both ways. But he needed time to think.

  “No, you’re right, I can’t. So here’s what I think you should do. This Adversego guy is the same IT pro that pulled our chestnuts out of the fire last time, right? So who’s a better choice to do the same thing again? Let’s get him to hack the hack.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, if he’s such a hot shot, why don’t you get him to figure out a way to kill the malware without the bad guys, whoever they are, knowing it’s happened? Then we have a clean election, and if word does ever leak out, no one can complain.”

  “What about the primaries? What are you going to say about those?”

  “What am I going to say? I’m not going to say anything.”

  “How do you expect to justify that if word gets out?”

  “I won’t have to, because this conversation never happened.”

  Marchand stopped and stared at him. “Are you serious? You’re really not going to do anything about this?”

  “That’s right. Things are pretty desperate – worse than even the Republicans know. The President can’t afford anything more hitting the fan right now, and there are plenty of things going on overseas only the CIA is aware of. Any of them could go off any minute.”

  Incredulous, Marchand said nothing as the two men faced each other in the early fall sunshine. Finally his friend said, “Look, anything you need, just ask for it. You’ll get it, no questions asked. But face to face only! Work through my aide, Bobby, and remember that those conversations won’t be happening, either. Good luck.”

  The President’s Chief of Staff turned and walked off, briskly now, his hands jammed in his pockets and his open raincoat flapping behind him. Thank God there was one disaster he could leave on someone else’s plate for a change.

  * * *

  What would he have up his sleeve if their roles were reversed? That was the question Richard Fetters was asking himself as he stood in his study, swirling the ice in his scotch and staring out over his rain-soaked patio. Water dripped fro
m the ivy growing on the trellises, and the early darkness of the advancing season seeped between the slats of the fence that surrounded the small, neglected oasis behind his townhouse.

  What indeed? The easy part was this: if he were White Crow, he’d need to either block Fetter’s ability to manipulate the voting, somehow force Wellhead out of the race, or make the Texan’s victory so improbable that no one would believe the returns if he won. Conveniently, those were nearly identical to the choices that lay on Fetters’s side of the table: he could outflank any attempt to block his vote manipulation, force Yazzie out of the race, or tar him so badly that no one would believe it if the voting tallies indicated he had won.

  Very well, then, Geronimo. Fetters enjoyed a friendly game of chess as well as the next man. Indeed, his only passion in life besides politics was chess. Game on.

  The third option he’d reviewed was easy to dispose of. If either candidate’s victory was too improbable to be believed, both would be at risk: anyone investigating the November voting would surely look into the primaries as well, and each was vulnerable there. Under that strategy, a draw could be the same as a loss, so neither player should want to play that game.

  What about forcing the other candidate out of the race? That was a time-honored political gambit, and the moves were well known. But that made it a difficult attack to pursue, because the other player would be watching for it, and would be on the attack as well.

  So that game was possible, but tricky. To win, he’d have to have both the best defense and the best offense, thwarting White Crow’s attempts to smear his candidate, while succeeding in smearing his.

  That game worried him the most. Wellhead was manifestly vulnerable, and he’d scrubbed Yazzie a year ago before agreeing to the deal with White Crow. He’d failed to find a single blemish of any sort. But that could be fixed. Still, time was short. Finding something to work with took time, and setting up someone surrounded by handlers and the press might prove impossible.

  Either way, he still had to rely on manipulating the vote. If White Crow figured out a way to block him, or how to manipulate the vote himself, Fetters’s whole strategy would collapse. That would be the aggressive game he’d play if he were White Crow, and also the one where the moves would be least visible. It might be impossible for either opponent to know that he was moving into a trap until he was checkmated. How could Fetters counter moves he couldn’t see?

  That was worrisome. The people he’d hired to hack the voting hadn’t found it to be particularly challenging, so why would White Crow? What if he slipped his own malware in at the last moment? That had to be the game he was playing.

  Fetters was out of his league when it came to technology, and being out of direct control of a situation was not tolerable. He stood up and poured himself another scotch. The rain had stopped, and fog was now streaming through the chinks in the fence that defended his patio. Already, he could barely see its boundaries in the gathering gloom.

  Well, screw it. There had to be a way to outflank his opponent, and he was determined to find it. He pulled a notepad out of his desk and started to make a list of the field operatives he’d need to enlist. If Yazzie so much as dropped a piece of litter, Fetters was going to know about it. And White Crow – well, that bastard wasn’t going to take a shit without someone telling Fetters how many sheets of toilet paper he’d used.

  He would also have to contact the hackers he’d hired many months ago and had hoped he would not need again.

  * * *

  Frank hadn’t seen George Marchand since he had hopped out of a helicopter on Frank’s wilderness doorstep. At 9:30 in the morning the commuter breakfast crowd had already passed through, leaving the sitting area of the sandwich shop deserted as planned.

  “So let me get this straight. I can get support from the administration as long as they preserve deniability. That means if this blows up in my face, I’m all alone, right?”

  “That’s pretty much it.”

  “So why would I want to do this? Why don’t you go to the FBI or your boss at the CIA instead?”

  “After the President’s Chief of Staff says the administration won’t get involved?”

  “Okay, but that still doesn’t tell me why I should put my head on the block.”

  “Don’t you think it already is?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you tell me that you’ve visited several voting places and a voting machine distribution center. If things blow up and there’s an investigation, that might very well come to light.”

  “But I was working for the government!”

  “I see. And what’s the name of the agency you were working for?”

  Frank opened his mouth and then shut it. George pressed his point.

  “Do you have a pay stub from them?”

  “You know I don’t, George. It’s from that voting machine front company they set up.”

  “I see. Ever been to Butcher’s office?”

  “No. I have no idea where it is.”

  “Uh huh. And who do you suppose would be conducting an investigation if there is one?”

  Frank was getting angry.

  “You know who.”

  “Yes I do. The FBI. Got any friends there?”

  “Damn it, George, you know they’d love to hang me out to dry. But you got me into this mess – and the last time, too, for that matter − so how about getting me out of it for a change?”

  “You’re right. I did get you into this, and at the moment I’m extremely sorry I did.”

  “Wonderful. I feel better already.”

  “Hold on a minute – I’m not through. I can’t go to my superiors to get approval for this, but I can start leaving my fingerprints on everything you do. And remember, it’s already documented back at the agency that I came out to Nevada with Butcher. The orders for that came all the way from the top. I’ll start checking in with Butcher from time to time in a way that won’t attract attention, but in retrospect it will look like you must be working under both of our directions as well. And I’ll stand by that story.”

  “I appreciate that, but how does that help me?”

  “If things blow up, the CIA will have to step in to defend itself. And you can be sure they’ll be happy to try and take the credit if things go well. Anyway, I’ll be putting myself at equal risk to you. I’m afraid that that’s the best I can do, at least for now.”

  Frank drummed his fingers for a while, and then picked up his coffee cup. “Refill?”

  “Sure”

  Marchand watched Frank take his time at the service counter. What would he do if Frank said no? He didn’t have a fallback plan.

  When he sat down again, Frank held his cup in both hands and stared at his old boss.

  “Okay, right now I’m not saying yes or no. I’ll get back to you when I’ve made up my mind.”

  Marchand frowned. Well, that was better than a no. He wondered what it would take to turn it into a yes.

  “Thanks, Frank. I truly am sorry I got you involved in this.”

  Marchand expected Frank to stand up, but instead he continued to sit there, looking unhappy and uncertain. He had the sense that perhaps Frank was waiting for him to say something that might convince him to sign on. But what could that be? Yes – that might work. He leaned forward.

  “Frank, for what it’s worth, keep in mind that it looks like you’re the only person right now who’s in a position to stop someone from stealing a presidential election. That’s a pretty big deal. Oh, and one other thing: what’s the use of knowing you’re the smartest guy in the room if you can’t prove it now and then?”

  * * *

  39

  Can I Borrow your Phone to Make a Call?

  “Hey – look who’s here!”

 
The pit boss poked the new blackjack dealer in the ribs and pointed at a tall, anxious Anglo entering the casino.

  Len Butcher had been summoned by White Crowe to receive further instructions. As he walked past, the pit boss grabbed his arm.

  “Yo, Len. Want to introduce you to one of our new people. Atsa, Len here is Ohanzee’s new naalté’.”

  The other man guffawed. “Really?”

  “Sure. And with Ohanzee, once you’re a naalté’, you’re a naalté for good.”

  Butcher pulled away, their laughter echoing in his burning ears.

  He knocked on the door to White Crow’s office, and waited to be let in. Two minutes later, he was still waiting. Now the pit boss was chatting with a bartender, pointing Butcher’s way and laughing.

  Butcher finally heard the electronic lock release, and let himself in.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting; things are busy. Let’s get down to business.”

  White Crow was seated behind his desk, leaving Butcher standing and wondering whether he was expected to remain so. Well, the hell with that. He dragged a chair from across the room and sat down.

  “So here’s where things stand. I’ve got to know what this guy Adversego knows about how the voting is being manipulated. Tell.”

  “I don’t know. I know he’s hard at work at it, and I expect he’s making progress. But I don’t know for sure.”

  “Well, find out. Whatever it takes, I want to know by the end of the week how it’s being done. Get that for me, and we’ll call it even on what you owe me. If you don’t, we’ll be having a different conversation.”

  “You mean you called me all the way out here just for that? Why didn’t you just call me?”

  “Because I want something else. A way to monitor your behavior so I know that you remain loyal. Let me see your phone.”